


Trading Partners

by Emma



Series: The Queen's Magicians [6]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-29
Updated: 2010-09-29
Packaged: 2017-10-12 07:35:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/122494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emma/pseuds/Emma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Torchwood Three goes chasing monsters, and Toshiko has a glimpse of her true inheritance. In case you're keeping track, this is <em>Countrycide</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Gwen watched in astonishment as her colleagues paraded towards her. Ianto, front and center, carried a birthday cake with a huge candle shaped like a zero; behind him, Owen carried a tray of champagne flutes. Tosh and Jack brought up the rear, arm-in-arm, each carrying a gift-wrapped package.

 

"Uh… guys? It's not my birthday."

 

"We know that." Ianto set the cake down in front of her and handed her a knife. "But today is your official birth into Torchwood. You have passed your ninety days' probation and you now a permanent employee of the Crown, with all the priviledges pertaining thereunto."

 

"I didn't even know I was on probation," she said.

 

Jack shrugged. "That's neither here nor there. The chair warmers in Westminster will be happy with my report and they will update their files and all will be well in their world. Which reminds me, Ianto, did you finish the report?"

 

"Completed, signed, and off to London in the morning post. I put a copy on your desk but I doubt you'll have any questions."

 

"I'm certain of it. Let's eat. I need a sugar fix."

 

Gwen cut generous portions and slid them into the plates Ianto had produced from somewhere. He passed them around. After everyone had been served, Jack tapped his fork on the tray.

 

"A toast first. To Gwen Cooper. May those who love you, love you, and those who don't love you, may God turn their hearts. And if he cannot turn their hearts, may he turn their ankles, so you may know them by their limping."

 

She burst into giggles. "What in the world is that?"

 

"Old Irish toast. I spent my summers with my cousins in Cashel when I was growing up. The Irish, bless them, have one for every occasion."

 

They sat around companionably, eating cake and enjoying the respite. It had been a mad couple of months. Mab's visit had left behind all sorts of disturbances. Weevils had been seen ranging for miles beyond their usual grounds. Hauntings were so common that people didn't even bother calling the exorcist, and undines had been seen in the Taff for the first time in a hundred years. Most of those they had left to the police and the Churches while they dealt with more dangerous things: the ghostly 9:15 from Paddington; the strange cult of the Old Ones Resurgent; and the reappearance of the Roman garrison at Carmarthen. Thankfully, things had begun to slow down in the last few days, and they had gone back to their usual routine.

 

Just as Owen was reaching for the last piece of cake, the cog door rolled open and Andy walked in. Gwen, moving fast, slid the cake plate out of reach, earning a glare from the doctor.

 

"Andy, come have some cake. I am born into Torchwood today."

 

"I've been keeping track." He produced a small package from his pocket. "But you don't get it if I don't get cake."

 

She offered him the plate. "Trade."

 

He limped over to the sitting area, leaning lightly on his cane. He was still dealing with the fallout from his encounter with Elaine de Cussac, although his personal Healer, one doctor Owen Harper, predicted full recovery. As he passed Ianto he gripped the other man's forearm briefly; Gwen had noticed that they had gotten into the habit of touching each time they met, as if to reassure themselves that everything was fine.

 

"I'm afraid I have an ulterior motive for coming," he said as he lowered himself to the sofa with some difficulty. "The deputy chief asked me to consult you about something. That's his phrasing, of course. What he means is that we're at the end of our rope and need help, but we know how strained you've been but he's hoping you'll jump to it anyway."

 

"The Saes made you, eh?" Gwen asked.

 

"He's cleverer that most of them, that one. Not the usual run of political hack."

 

"So what's going on?" Jack asked.

 

"There's been a number of disappearances in the Brecons. People just vanishing. We find their cars and their belongings but not head or hair of them." He bit into a piece of cake. "That's good. It's nice to have taste buds again."

 

"People disappear all the time in the mountains," Owen scoffed. "Idiots who think that because they look so pretty they're not dangerous."

 

"This is different," Andy said. "We usually find those within a week, living or not. Like I said, neither head nor hair. Eight people in the last two weeks."

 

Jack sat up. "That's rather a high number."

 

"We think so too. It's been mostly tourists, but the last two were locals coming back from the festival at Swansea. People up there are starting to panic. Some are saying that there's been wolves howling at night." He sighed. "You know how that goes. Next thing we know there's going to be rash of dog killings and someone's going to take it into his head that some poor bloke who works nights is some sort of monster and we have a mess on our hands."

 

"Any reason to believe it's werewolves?" Ianto asked.

 

"I don't think so." The emphasis on the pronoun told them that there were other opinions in the Glamorgan Police Department. "Weres kill, eat, and leave the carcasses behind. There's always something new under the moon, but… no. Although, mind you, there's something there, all right."

 

"What makes you think so?"

 

"We've had one survivor. A Spanish bloke travelling with some folk he met at one of the hostels." He slid a DVD case from his pocket. "He was found by one of the local farmers. He took him to the clinic at Cuddfadwn. The constable there called us."

 

Tosh took the case to her workstation. Popping the disc into the player, she turned the monitor to face the group. It showed a hospital room. A man lay on the bed, nearly invisible in a mass of tubes and machines. He was a mass of purplish-green bruises. The only thing that seemed unharmed was his eyes, and those were filled with terror.

 

The constable next to him was trying to fight back tears. She held his hand in hers as he tried to answer questions, but it was clear that there was little or no sanity left in him.

 

"Inhuman… _no eran humanos_ … looked like people, but they were monsters… monsters… _no eran humanos… eran monstruos…_ "

 

"They were not human," Jack translated. "They were monsters."

 

"We can't get much more out of him, poor man. He's been regressing more and more every day. Right now he thinks he's twelve and on his first trip to the UK with his grandparents. The Healers are at their wits' end. They say is as if something is taking his mind from him piecemeal, but they can't find a trace of either illness or spell."

 

Jack stared at the screen for a long time. "Owen, Gwen, we're going camping. Go home and pack a change of clothes. Tosh, you know what to do. Ianto, would you come up to my office for a moment, please."

 

"Yes, sir."

 

The flat, even tone made Jack wince. He took the stairs two steps at a time without looking back. He had barely taken a few steps into the office before he heard the door click shut softly.

 

"Ianto…"

 

"Don't worry, Jack. I understand. You can't trust me."

 

"Is that what you think this is about?" He turned to find Ianto standing so close that he could feel his breath. "God, Ianto. I can't risk you yet. I can't."

 

"And how long do you think you can keep me in cotton wool, sir?"

 

"For a little while longer. Please." Jack took a deep breath and very gently gathered Ianto in until their foreheads were touching. "I nearly lost you."

 

Ianto wrapped his arms around Jack's waist. "Jack… how long can we go on like this?"

 

"I don't know." Jack pressed his lips to Ianto's temple. "I don't know."


	2. Chapter 2

"So this is Cuddfadwn." Owen jumped out of the SUV. "Doesn't look like much, does it?"

 

"Looks deserted," Gwen said. "At this time of day there should be kids coming back from school, people bustling about getting tea ready, early arrivals at the pub, that sort of thing. There's nobody here."

 

Jack pointed as a small building on the opposite corner of the green. "That's the police station. Andy says the constable here is one Huw Davies, long timer here, respected by the locals. We'll get whatever he can give us and go from there."

 

Huw Davies turned out to be a grizzled middle-aged man with more than a passing resemblance to the middle-aged Richard Burton. He had the look of someone who had taken a good hard look at the world and hadn't liked what he'd seen, but laugh lines bracketed his mouth. Jack introduced himself and the others. He shook their hands and offered coffee, but they refused. When Jack asked about the victim, he answered readily enough.

 

"Michael Oldfield found him. Scouser transplant, owns the organic farm two valleys over. He was on his way back from the Saturday farmer's market and saw this thing he thought was old clothes by the side of the road, but since everybody's been on the lookout, well, he stopped to look. He drove the man to the clinic at Talybont. Called me from there. I took one look and shouted for the District Superintendent."

 

"What's with this place, Davies?" Owen was standing by the window looking out on the green. "It's empty."

 

The constable shrugged. "If you had children or old folks would you stay? Weres go for the easy kill."

 

"You think it's werewolves, then?" Gwen asked.

 

"What else could it be?" He made a vague pointing gesture. "There's dozens and dozens of little valleys where they can hide and come out to hunt when they need to."

 

Jack had been studying the map tacked to the wall next to the window. "That's the truth. So who stayed?"

 

"What?"

 

"Of the townspeople. Who stayed?"

 

"The doctor, Peter Courtenay. He's been here since I was a boy. Brother Numen, the local Celtic priest. He's only been here a few years, but he's stubborn as his ancestors. Looks like one of them, too, bloody Norman giant. My cousin Evan Sherman and his wife Helen. No kids, you see, and parents long dead. A few other men. That's it."

 

"All right. We'll want to talk to everyone. I know you've probably done it already," Jack said with his best smile, "but a new pair of ears always helps."

 

"That's true enough. Well, if you go three doors down, doctor Courtenay should be in his office still. Keeps long hours, he does. Has done it since I was a kid. Brother Numen is usually in the church until late and then goes off to his cottage."

 

"Thanks. We'll probably see you later."

 

"Yeah."

 

As they left the office, Gwen grabbed at Jack's arm. "There's something wrong," she whispered through pale lips.

 

"What is it?"

 

"I can't see anything." She gripped her Eye amulet. "It's like someone has thrown a blanket over my senses."

 

"All right. Let's talk to the doctor and the priest and then we get out of this place." He sniffed the air, a bit, Gwen thought, like a bloodhound. "We can stay the night in one of the hotels in Crickhowell."

 

They found the doctor in his office, sitting comfortably with his feet up on the desk, reading a medical journal. He was a youngish man, probably in his forties, with a long, mournful face and beautiful grey eyes. He waved them to chairs and looked them over with a happy grin, as if examining his favorite specimens.

 

"Torchwood! And Huw called you in? Good man, Huw. He always knows when he's outmatched." He threw the journal he had been reading in a pile of others. "So what can I do for you?"

 

"At this moment we're just picking people's brains, doctor." Jack said. "Anything strikes you odd or strange about this?"

 

"Everything, really. I know people keep on insisting that it must be a were pack, but I have never heard of one that hauled off its kills. Kill, eat, and run, that's how weres operate. Or at least, that's how they did it in my neck of the woods."

 

"Which is?"

 

"Yorkshire. Beverley. Had always wanted to practice medicine in interesting places. Wales was meant to be an interim stop and off I would go to Egypt or the South Pacific. Came and stayed."

 

"Wales does that to you," Jack nodded. "I'm living proof. Anything else, doctor?"

 

"Not really. Without a body, there's nothing a medical man can say." He picked up a gold letter opener and flipped it over and over as he spoke. "The man they found, the survivor. Is he all right?"

 

"He's alive but his mind is gone." Jack said. "No possibility of recovery." He stood up. "We won't take up any more of your time, doctor. Thank you."

 

They walked out at an easy pace and headed for the Church. As soon as they were out of sight of the main street, they broke into a gallop, crashing through the lychgate and running up the path to the tiny porch.

 

"There is no way," Gwen gasped, "that Hew Davies knew that man when he was a child."

 

"Monsters with human faces, remember?" Owen said. "Let's try to find the priest and get the hell out of here."

 

They searched both the Church and the small cottage behind it and found them empty, although there were signs of someone having made a hurried exit not too long before.

 

"I think we should take the hint," Owen said. "I noticed a lane that leads back to the green from that end of the churchyard. It's getting dark, so we should have a chance. Let's go, yeah?"

 

They ran down the lane, between rows of shuttered cottages and dying gardens. As they emerged into the green they heard the first sounds of pursuit and saw the lights of torches. There was no way they could reach the SUV.

 

"Into the woods," Jack said quietly. "We'll be harder to find."

 

They veered off and made for the line of trees on the hill beyond the last row of cottages. Running men followed, shouting and cheering, almost as if it was all a grand festival. The noise and flickering lights left them disoriented. Gwen gasped for air but kept going; at one point, she tripped, but Owen hauled her up and pulled her along. Jack brought up the rear, gun in hand.

 

They almost made it, but as they passed a large shed on the side of the last cottage, men burst out of it, carrying quarterstaffs and clubs. Gwen felt one of the staffs connect with her ribs, and, as she went down, a heavy boot kicked her on the side and another staff slammed into the back of her head.

 

When she came to, she was in the dark. She was resting against something human; as it moved and groaned she recognized Owen.

 

"Owen, what happened?"

 

"You mean after they beat the crap out of us? They dragged us here. You and me, anyway. They couldn't find Jack." He coughed. "God, that hurts. The doctor was really pissed off, told them to go find Jack and not come back until they had him. Hold on, I think I can reach the light. Somewhere here, yes… shit. Shit, shit, shit."

 

Gwen didn't even have air in her lungs to swear. The room – it looked like someone's kitchen – was filled with body parts. Recognizably human body parts, hanging from hooks, lying on counters neatly wrapped in plastic, floating in pots filled with water. Blood smeared the walls and the ceiling; she could smell it, sickly sweet and cloying, with an odd note of sage and lemon.

 

"Holy Aranrhod protect us, Holy Don protect us, Holy Cerridwen protect us. What is this place?"

 

Owen gave a sardonic laugh. "It looks like a butcher shop to me, cariad." He sniffed one of the pots. "And that's dinner."


	3. Chapter 3

Tosh stared at the data in her screen as if trying to make it change through sheer will. "Ianto, what are the odds that a village in the Valleys would have the highest per-capita income in Glamorgan and Powys?"

 

He looked up from his own monitor. "Some sort of celebrity retreat place?"

 

"No. Cuddfadwn. I started doing some research. Jack would ask me to at some point anyway. The disappearances cluster around it. I did an infogather and it showed up in the official statistics. It's not a matter of an American billionaire returning to his ancestral lands and putting down roots, either. This village has been wealthy for at least one hundred years and it looks like it's fairly spread out among residents."

 

"Even during the nineteen twenties and thirties?"

 

"Especially. They stand out like a lighthouse during the depression years."

 

Ianto logged out of the "priority" questionnaire he had been working on for the Treasury – mostly repeating _please contact Her Majesty's Keeper of the Privy Purse for this information_ after each question – and brought up Mainframe's integrated search module. "Tosh, would you keep on looking into the town? Who lives there now, anyone stand out, that sort of thing."

 

"Sure. What are you going to be looking into?"

 

"Other disappearances in that area."

 

Ianto set up his research parameters and waited impatiently. He couldn't get rid of the feeling that something was wrong with Jack. It had started a few hours after they had left for the Brecons and it had been growing in intensity since then. He felt edgy, jittery, like someone standing in a field with a thunderstorm coming.

 

The results window opened and a map of the Brecons came up. Different colored dots made an irregular circle with the village in the center, each color representing a different year. He gave a low whistle.

 

"What is it?"

 

"There have been disappearances around Cuddfadwn for one hundred and forty years. Clusters of twelve every twenty years, more or less. Bodies were never found. Each time it was attributed to either werewolves or accident."

 

"The first ones in 1889, right?"

 

"Right. How did you know?"

 

"Income took a jump up." She enlarged another window. "That's interesting. They got a doctor at around the same time."

 

"Most of those villagers had Healers…"

 

"Not a Healer, a doctor. A London import by the name of Peter Courtenay. Wait a minute," She switched windows. "Ianto, the current doctor in Cuddfadwn is also called Peter Courtenay."

 

"Descendant, maybe?"

 

"Hold on. Let me try the General Register Office records." She typed fast. "No. No children born to Peter Courtenay, doctor, at least not registered in Wales between 1888 and 1920. There are two in London proper, and a scattering in Hampshire, Sussex, and Kent. It would take me a bit longer to weed them out."

 

"Leave it for now. How did you find out about the doctor?"

 

"Newspaper article. Oh. Photos.Yes, there's one. Bad quality, but I can work with it. Let's see." She made faces as she worked, Ianto noticed with amusement. "There."

 

Ianto stared at the man, then tapped his earpiece twice. "Andy? Did you meet the Cuddfadwn doctor?... Describe him." He listened intently. "Could you come to the Hub, please? I think Tosh is going to need some company." He ended the call. Tosh…"

 

She waved him to silence. "Hold on…. There."

 

She used her cursor to create a lineup of three photographs running across the top part of the monitor. The faces were not identical; if you had met two of them in separate occasion one may not have reminded you of the other. But when you lined them up side to side it was unmistakable. "Three men, three different decades, three different names."

 

"The same man…. Ah." The sudden shaft of pain in his abdomen bent him in half. "Ahhhh."

 

Tosh ran to his side. "Ianto, what's wrong?"

 

"I've lost Jack," he whispered. "I've lost Jack."

 

Tosh helped him to the sofa and then knelt by his side. "Ianto, is he dead?"

 

He closed his eyes briefly. "No. But I can't feel him,."

 

"All right. Sit. I'll go get what we need." She pointed a finger at him. "Don't even say it. I'm going with you, and that's all there is to it."

 

Ianto watched her go into the weapons storage area. Actually, he was glad to have her along. In spite of her fragile appearance, Tosh was icy cold in an emergency and could think as fast as Mainframe if she had to.

 

She returned carrying two of Jack's prize modified shotguns and an aspergillum. He laughed, even though his chest hurt. "Holy water?"

 

"Why not? Believers will respond and non-believers will be surprised to get wet."

 

He laughed harder. "I love you, Toshiko Sato."

 

Andy walked into the Hub in less than fifteen minutes; something in Ianto's tone had made him run. Ten minutes later, Tosh and Ianto were on their way. Ianto drove as fast as he dared in the city, but as soon as he hit the main road into the mountains he opened up the SUV until the tyres were barely skimming the tarmac.The small sliver of moon gave him enough visibility to see the road, and that was all he needed.

 

An hour later, as the SUV took a sharp turn, its head lamps illuminated the other SUV, parked on the verge facing in the wrong direction. He stomped on the brakes and was once again grateful for the excellent maintenance the SUVs received; otherwise, seatbelt or no seatbelt, they would have gone through the windscreen. He thought of telling Tosh to stay in the SUV but dismissed it immediately. Instead, he pointed towards the ditch on the other side, closest to the trees. She nodded.

 

He turned off the ignition. They waited a few minutes, then they opened the doors at the same time and bolted. Tosh moved immediately into the deep shadows. Ianto stayed low as he ran for the passenger side of the other SUV. He peered through the window, using his pocket torch. The driver's seat had been set wrong: too close for Jack, too far away for Owen or Gwen.

 

He had decided to take a closer look when a whine and a sharp ping into the metal above his head made him duck lower. Several shapes were moving through the meadow towards them. Tosh's shotgun barked and one of the shapes fell into the thigh-high grass. Ianto took off at a run towards her.

 

"Into the woods. Now!"

 

They ran. Among the trees there was no moonlight to lighten the shadows. Behind them there was the sound of men screaming and cheering. Ianto could barely see Tosh ahead of him, but she seemed certain of where she was going. Suddenly she veered off, almost backtracking towards the road.

 

"Tosh! What are you doing?" he hissed.

 

"This way!" Her voice was vague, but she kept moving. "We'll be safe there."

 

He tried to grab her, but she was too fast. There was nothing for it but to follow. Suddenly, he felt the tingle in his senses that told him they had crossed some sort of magical barrier. Sounds receded, and Ianto was certain that they were beyond the reach of their pursuers.

 

A few steps beyond, the narrow trail widened into a small clearing. A rivulet divided it; along its banks violets and eglantine bloomed. His mind told him it was the wrong season, but his magical sense told him in this realm things did not follow normal seasons. Seated on a rock by the stream was a beautiful young woman combing her hair, a cascade the shade of a dying flame that reached her knees.

 

"Tosh…"

 

"I know what she is," Tosh said wonderingly. "A kitsune."

 

"A fox spirit?"

 

"Don't worry, Ianto. When I was small I loved kitsune stories…"

 

She walked up to the young woman. Ianto, following her, noticed that on closer look the young woman had a look of great age to her, especially around her eyes.

 

"Oldest sister," Tosh said , bowing deeply."We are lost and come for refuge."

 

"I have been expecting you, younger sister. We were warned you would be coming, and we have set places like this all through the woods."

 

"Who told you we were coming?" Ianto asked.

 

"The handsome one. He said you would see us." She shook her head musingly. "He did not tell us you traveled with one of our sisters."

 

"We didn't know," he said, noticing the look of shock in Tosh's face. "But we honor you as we honor her."

 

She gave a gracious nod. "Come, then. The handsome one waits."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the current incarnation of the GRO is the Identity and Passport Service. Don't like it. Won't use it. Also, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aspergillum


	4. Chapter 4

They were locked in for what seemed like hours. They had tried to get out, but doors and windows were barricaded from the outside. The sights and smells had nearly driven them mad, and finally Owen had wrapped his arms around Gwen and pushed her head into his chest and his face into her hair as they sat with their backs against the door, the only spot that wasn't covered in blood. Men walked about outside, and once they heard someone screaming, but mostly they had waited, knowing that their only chance was for Jack to still be alive. But finally it seemed their luck had run out.

 

"Stand away from the door."

 

They scrambled to obey as it swung open. Peter Courteney stood outside. He wore Victorian costume, from frock coat to boots. His yellow waistcoat was patterned with red dots. He looked ready for a night at the opera or at his gentleman's club, except for the rather serviceable gun in his hand and the two thugs with staffs behind him.

 

"Come with me, please." He laughed almost like a child when he noticed their reluctance. "I hope you're not expecting a rescue from your friend. Evan Sherman confessed to having stabbed him in the melee."

 

Owen took Gwen's hand. As they reached the door Courtenay stood aside to let them pass, keeping the gun pointed at them. The two thugs fell on either side but slightly ahead, and the little group marched towards the center of the green where a small crowd waited, grouped around a makeshift altar: a table, covered with a white tablecloth, with black candles at all four corners, and a small basket of odd-looking eggs in the center. Torches placed at irregular intervals turned the green into something out of a horror movie.

 

"So that's what this is is all about," Owen said contemptuously. "Another bunch of idiots trying for immortality."

 

"What do you mean?" Gwen asked.

 

"The eggs on the table. There's a Christian legend that tells of Mary Magdalene carrying a basket of eggs when she went to visit Christ's sepulchre. The eggs turned rainbow-colored to celebrate the resurrection. An altar with eggs and black candles usually means somebody is trying to become immortal."

 

"Very good, doctor Harper. But not quite right." Courtenay stepped forward. "I am not trying. I am immortal. This is merely… maintenance."

 

"Really?"

 

Courtenay smiled gently and then slammed the gun across Owen's cheek, sending him to the ground. "I am Peter de Leger de Courtenay, Lord of Bexley. I went on Crusade, believing as I did that it was our Christian duty to regain the Holy Lands. As I lay dying on the field at Hattin I realized it had all been about temporal power and it would always be about temporal power, and I asked, and I was answered."

 

He pulled something out of his pocket and held it out to them. It was an egg, gleaming gold, but it radiated a heat that they could feel even at a distance. "A man came and offered a trade. A partnership, he said. I would live forever and have powers beyond those of mortal magicians, in exchange for twelve souls every twenty years. Such a little price to pay, really."

 

"And these people?" Owen asked as he dragged himself up.

 

"They are my trading partners. They help me harvest the souls in exchange for prosperity. Amazing what full bellies and a safe future can buy." He laughed. "And of course, the meat."

 

Gwen shivered. "What will you do now?"

 

"Well, my dear, we will harvest the two of you. I am sorry to say that he enjoys pain, so your deaths will not be easy. As a beginning, I will remove the veil I placed on you. There are no mediums in Cuddfadwn, Gwen Cooper. They all die young or go mad."

 

The sudden clarity of vision nearly drove Gwen to her knees. She staggered against Owen as her senses were pummeled by the cacophony of the dead pressing all around them. She felt Owen put his arms around her waist holding her up as she fought to hold on to her sanity.

 

"So many… so many…"

 

"Hold on, Gwen. Hold on." Owen whispered. "The stories you told us… Gweneth, who saved Cardiff from a wraith invasion… your great-grandmother facing down the banshee...You are strong, Gwen."

 

Gwen giggled. "And you just wait until my godmother hears about this."

 

"Godmother? What about a godmother?" Courtenay pointed the gun at Gwen. "Talk, miss Cooper, or I will shoot you. Enough to hurt a great deal."

 

"My godmother is the Lady Aeronwen, niece to King Gwynn ap Nudd." The terrified moan from the crowd had Courtenay whipping around in sudden panic. "They know."

 

"Superstition! Fairies cannot harm Christians!"

 

Owen laughed. "Really? Did they tell you about Queen Mab's visit two months ago? Or are you so psychically blind that all you saw were bad storms and cattle dying of some odd disease? Do you know what the Tylwyth Teg do to those who harm their favorites? They attach your intestines to a tree and make you run around it until you are completely bound. And then they let you die there as an example to others. And you cannot die, Courtenay. You will be there forever, paying for Gwen's death."

 

"I am baptized in the name of Christ. I am…"

 

"You abandoned Him when you took on your trading partner!"

 

In the distance, thunder rolled and lightning flashed. "Signed and sealed!" Gwen exulted. "Your God gives you no protection, Courtenay. None!"

 

"Indeed, He does not."

 

Jack stepped out of the shadows, flanked by Tosh and Ianto. The crowd around the altar fell back, muttering with panic. Lightning ripped overhead. It highlighted Jack's features, giving the beautiful bone structure an oddly unearthly cast.

 

"Peter de Courtenay, knight, what you chose cannot be unchosen." Jack's words took on the rhythm of an incantation. "You have named yourself apostate. You have no place in Heaven and Hell has no use for you."

 

"No!" Courtenay clutched the golden egg to his chest and backed away, keeping the gun pointed at them. "I will go on somewhere else. There is always somewhere else!"

 

The screaming and pointing that erupted from the people around the altar made him turn. The green was now ringed by animals. Cows and foxes and badgers and even the occasional wolf stared at him unblinkingly. Above them the rooflines and trees were lined with birds and bats. Here and there a human form glowed with unearthly light; nature spirits come to reclaim their own.

 

Courtenay ran back towards the green keening in terror. Jack was waiting for him. His right hand gripped Courtenay's shoulder. The touch seemed to burn right through the man's clothes. His panicked keen turned into an agonizing shriek as his flesh seemed to melt away until only a shadow stood in its place, a shadow wearing a crusader's tunic and sword.

 

"Peter de Courtenay, you are forbidden either Heaven or Hell. But God is kind. You will live as shadow as long as you lived as flesh, and in that time you might seek redemption. Go!" He waited until the shadow had faded from sight before addressing the others. "The police and the priests will be here soon. We don't feel very reasonable at the moment, so if you want to live to see them, don't move even one finger."

 

He turned to Gwen and Owen, who were shaking with exhaustion and relief. "Owen, can you drive?" At the doctor's nod, he continued. "Take Huw Davies's car. It's right in front of the police station. Drive Gwen home. We'll take care of this."

 

They didn't argue, stopping only long enough to exchange hugs with Tosh and Ianto. Gwen collapsed into the passenger seat and belted in as Owen got the car moving. They left the village as fast as they could.

 

"I wonder why," Gwen asked almost to herself. At Owen's inquiring look, she said, "Why they turned cannibal. There was no reason for it."

 

Owen shrugged. "The Bishop's people will find out. Or the police psychologists. But don't be surprised if there's no answer. At least, none that makes sense to a normal person."

 

The rest of the drive was a silent one. They communicated by touch, reaching often for each other as if to make certain that the other one was alive. Towards the end their fingers were tightly linked, and Owen drove with one hand. As the lights of Cardiff came into view, Owen sighed.

 

"You'll need to give me directions."

 

Gwen hesitated. "Rhys is away. When I told him I would be out of town for a couple of days, he decided to go visit his parents in Swansea. I don't want to be alone."

 

"Gwen…"

 

"Just for tonight. I don't think I'll make it if I don't hold on to someone."

 

He nodded. "I know." He pulled over and stopped the car. "Gwen…"

 

She reached for him. They kissed frantically as if trying to inhale each other, hands petting and stroking whatever part of the other they could reach. He pulled her shirt open and pressed kisses to her breasts, licking and sucking hungrily. She moaned, clutching his hair.

 

Finally, with a kiss to her erect nipples, Owen pulled away. "All right. Just for tonight."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story of Mary Magdalene and the eggs is an old Eastern European legend; the person who told me about it thought it was a way to Christianize the famous painted eggs that are probably of pagan origin; the immortality mass is all my idea. The battle of Hattin really did take place:www.historyofwar.org/articles/battles_hattin.html


End file.
